


Back From the Wars

by yet_intrepid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Gen, Hunk saves the day, POV Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: Somebody is carrying him.Shiro doesn’t like it. It isn’tnormal.





	Back From the Wars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [His Mighty Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947903) by [sedna_mode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sedna_mode/pseuds/sedna_mode). 



> For the Vld Remix Event on tumblr! I had a great time working with ace-pidge's fic :D
> 
> Title is from "Adventures in Solitude" by The New Pornographers, aka my favorite Shiro song.

Somebody is carrying him.

Shiro doesn’t like it. It isn’t _normal_. He knows how these things are supposed to go, the aftermath of fights he almost loses, and getting carried over somebody’s shoulders isn’t part of it. He’s used to a blaster at the back of his neck, forcing him to walk, or if he’s really hurt, being dragged by his arms or legs down the corridors.  

But no, he’s definitely being carried.

It’s not normal, and it’s not right, and those things are bad. They mean something’s going to happen that’s new, that Shiro can’t predict, that he hasn’t rationalized and sorted through and figured out how to deal with.

So fear keeps him conscious, pulls him just close enough to awake that he can start to catalogue his injuries. His side is damp with something more than sweat, so although he can’t feel anything wrong there, he’s got to be bleeding. His left eye throbs, probably from a punch to the face.

But the worst is his arm. It hurts the most, like it’s been wrenched and tangled; the wires are sending jolts of anguish to his brain. But that’s not what makes it the worst. The worst is that the arm came from Haggar, and he doesn’t want to go back to her. Because fuck, please, he’ll live with the pain till he dies if it means he can stay out of her lab, off her operating table. Away from her eyes and her cold, cold hands.

She’s going to be angry, he thinks, desperately. Haggar will be angry, and then Sendak will be angry, and then Shiro will go on penal lockdown in solitary. Or he’ll get beaten, which wouldn’t be much good as a punishment when everything already hurts so much. He’s not far from passing out as it is.

Shiro decides to hope for the beating. His body is less fragile than his sanity, these days.

“Nearly there, buddy, just hold on.”

Shiro’s brain, already slow, stutters to a halt. The voice is gentle, and it doesn’t sound like Galra, no distortion from translators or words he only half-remembers. He can’t place it. It’s not right.

He wrenches open his right eye, the one that’s not swollen shut, in the vaguest of hopes that he’ll find out he’s not on a Galra ship after all. That this is a dream, maybe, or that somehow it’s over—he has a faint sense, prickling in the back of his mind, that it’s supposed to be over. But everything he sees is washed in faint purple light.

Fuck, he thinks again. Not Haggar, not Haggar, please.

“…said than done.” It’s the same voice, irritated but not angry, and Shiro thinks he’s starting to recognize it when suddenly there’s blaster fire, and a jolting of the shoulders he’s dangled across, and then he slams up against the wall. The pain echoes up and down his body and he groans, the closest his tired body can come to a scream.

But he’s slammed up against something else, too: he does recognize the voice. Or at least, he can put a name to it: Hunk. He’s not sure why Hunk’s carrying him, or how they know each other, or how there’s another human on a Galra transport. But he grips onto that word, using it like a railing to support him on his wobbling way to awareness.

Then he realizes something else. Hunk is panicking, afraid, maybe hurt. Shiro can hear his heavy breathing, feel the shoulders shake beneath him. And Shiro doesn’t know why, but he knows this isn’t right either. He’s supposed to take care of Hunk. Not the other way around.

He opens his right eye again. “Hunk,” he tries to say, but he’s not sure anything comes out at all.

“Shh,” Hunk says, and then something else, and Shiro can’t catch it all. The tone is comforting, though, and Shiro wants to ease into it, but he can’t.

It isn’t normal. It isn’t right. Who is Hunk, anyway? Maybe he’s taking Shiro to Haggar, Shiro thinks, and then his mind is wild and desperate again. He didn’t protect Hunk. He’s messing everything up, and he’s going to get punished, and he already hurts so bad.

“I’m sorry,” he tries, because no matter what’s happening it seems like the best thing to say.

“Can’t hear you,” Hunk answers, and—is he teasing? He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound like Haggar does when she wants him to apologize better.

Shiro thinks maybe he’s supposed to laugh.

But when he tries, it jars his whole body and he starts coughing desperately, wheezing a little when the air won’t come in right. And that’s not good, he’s not supposed to make so much noise, but thinking about getting punished for it just makes breathing harder. Something comes up from all the coughing, too. It tastes blood-sharp in his mouth and with an effort, he gathers the energy to spit it out.

“Seriously dude,” Hunk is saying, “you’re badly hurt. If you make it worse by trying to say dumb stuff like apologizing for something that isn’t your fault I won’t forgive you.”

The sentence doesn’t totally make sense. Shiro tries to wrap his head around it better, but the meaning keeps slipping away from him. It’s okay, though. It doesn’t matter. The voice is soft and worried and laughing, and even though Shiro knows better than to try and laugh again in reply, he can lean into the kindness and pretend it erases all the pain.

Hunk says something else. It’s getting even harder to understand what he’s saying, but again—it’s okay. It’s okay.

“Mm,” Shiro answers, quietly, and then he lets his head droop. He can tell he’s slipping towards unconsciousness, and it seems okay to not fight it right now.

He doesn’t know _how_ he knows he’s not going to Haggar. But he knows.

Because Hunk is there, he remembers, as some loud crash echoes close enough that he should be afraid. He isn’t afraid. Hunk is there; Hunk is carrying him. And Shiro is safe.


End file.
